Cinco de Mayo is Sunday, so you know what to expect: tacos by the ton and Corona by the gallon.

Yawn.

A craft beer revolución is rocking Baja California, but you wouldn’t know that in San Diego, where local Mexican restaurants pour the same old ho-hum imports: Corona, Dos Equis, Sol, Pacífico. Brews from upstarts like Insurgente, Border Psycho and Rámuri, all in Tijuana; and Canneria in Ensenada, aren’t available. Struggling to gain toeholds in their own market, these brewers don’t send their full-flavored products across the border.

“We are not trying to compete in San Diego right now,” said Walter Soto with Asociación de Cerveceros Artesanales de Baja California, a trade group representing the peninsula’s small brewers. “We have a long ways to go.”

A handful of restaurants also offer these beers. At Aquí es Texcoco in Chula Vista, the acidic grapefruit and lime undertones of bottled Runaway ($4.25) cut through the sour cream and grated cheese on the barbecued lamb enchiladas ($6) and rolled tacos ($6). Romesco Mexiterranean Bistro in Bonita has the superbly balanced Chupacabras ($6 in a bottle or on draft). Order it there, as I did with a Caesar salad and paella large enough to feed two ($22.95), and your waiter may give you an approving smile.

“It’s new here,” he said. “You’ll like it.”

Sí, señor.

Border experience

As a boy dining at Tijuana’s Chiki Jai restaurant, I sipped my first Mexican beer: Carta Blanca. At the time, it seemed like brewing perfection, light, crisp, refreshing.

But that was back when Michelob was an exotic “super premium” American brew. Since then, craft brewers have introduced us to dozens of beer styles, from malty Helles to joltingly bitter IPAs to roasty imperial stouts.

Garcia, Cucapá’s director general, wanted to make beers with the depth of American microbrews but the heritage of Baja. So the brewery’s name salutes a local Indian tribe, the Cucapah, and beer labels reflected border experiences. Runaway, for instance, is wrapped in yellow-and-black images of a family dashing to El Norte; Chupacabras honors the region’s mythical bloodsucking creature; and perhaps it’s no accident that the imperial stout, La Migra, isn’t seen north of the border.

San Diego seemed like a natural market for Cucapá, and the brewery began exporting here in 2008.

But it withdrew in 2010. “To be honest,” Garcia said, “our volume wasn’t where we are at today. We really couldn’t afford to export.”

That’s changed. In the last three years, Cucapá’s annual production has quintupled, from 1,500 to 7,500 barrels. After landing some major accounts, including Walmart and 7-Eleven in Mexico, Garcia decided to re-enter the U.S. earlier this year.

“It’s been really fun to work back in the States and especially back in San Diego,” he said. “We’ve had a really good response.”